


A Pretty Boy is like A Melody

by notoriousdre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Burlesque, Burlesque!Stiles, Copious amounts of glitter, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, First Time, Human!Derek, M/M, Switching, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoriousdre/pseuds/notoriousdre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bur·lesque<br/>/bərˈlesk/<br/><i>n</i>: A parody or comically exaggerated imitation of something, esp. in a literary or dramatic work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blues to Strip By

“They’re not strippers, Derek,” Laura hisses under her breath. She smacks the backs of her fingers across his bicep, pursing her lips together in that stern way that reminded Derek way too much of their mother. 

Laura liked the fact she was older a little too much. She lorded her age (the difference was a couple years, big deal) over him, reminding him that she was in charge, she made the rules, and she was the boss. Never mind the fact he was twenty-four years old, lived on his own, and only saw her on days like these. Days where-- Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be so hard on her for being concerned for his well-being. _‘I need you to come out with me. You can't just sit at home, alone, and practice your scowl in the mirror. I won't allow it.'_

Derek should've been grateful. He should have been glad to get out of the house. Today of all days he knew he needed to, but more importantly he knew Laura needed to. She came home for Christmas and decided to stay into the New Year, which meant he slept on the couch, she in his bed, and his every action fell under scrutinizing brown eyes. She chided him for spending too much time in front of ESPN and checking stocks and bonds online. She begged him to do something _normal_ like look at porn or stalk cute girls on some social networking site. It was her way of showing she cared, he knew that. So when she suggested they go to Madam LuLu's he'd rolled his eyes, pulled on a pair of good jeans, and ran a comb through his hair. Derek could appreciate the mostly naked form of a woman, dancing around on stage. He could. He just didn't understand why there were _so many people_ packed into this tiny club, seated on cushiony chairs and couches, all eagerly staring at a dark stage. 

"I never said they were strippers, Laura. I said exotic dancers."

"Like you know the difference."

His jaw clenched, nostrils pinched together in a sharp inhale, and Derek glowered through the dim lighting at his sister. She'd curled her hair, painted her lips red, and put on the dress she'd worn on a failed date a few days ago. Some sort of redemption for it, she'd said. "You can stop glaring at me. I've been immune to that look for years." Derek eventually blinked, crossed his arms, and turned his scowl (which, no, he did not practice in front of the mirror) toward the stage. 

Over the speakers the MC declared in an overly cheerful, too loud voice, "Ladies and gents, please welcome to the stage one of Madam LuLu's newest performers: Moonlite Shadow!"

A heavy, steady drum beat filled his ears. There was whistling, and he couldn't tell if it was the music or the crowd. A swanky saxophone (or trumpet? It's not like Derek listened to stripper jazz often.) joined in a typically campy beat he was sure he'd heard before. Somewhere. Colored lights flashed, darting across the back of the stage. When the blue tinted spotlight crisscrossed people cheered, clapping like their lives depended on it. Derek's thick eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Laura as if she'd just grown three heads. She was clapping and whistling and _nothing was happening_. He felt left out of the loop, like he was missing the punch line to a joke everyone else knew. Why the hell was everyone so excited about a bunch of flashing lights?

Then his hazel eyes, which always teetered closer to green or blue than brown, found a dark lump of something on the stage. It didn't move, and he was positive it wasn't a person since what could contort itself to fit into a shape like that? Derek studied it, straining to see through the darkness. But he didn't have to wait long. The spotlight found the dark pile and he tilted his head to the side. A hand peeked from beneath what looked like a giant pile of dark blue feathers. It glistened in the light. Each little fleck of glitter caught on the lithe forearm, long and spindly fingers, and a wrist bone that should not have been so singularly arousing. More cheers and whistles. The audience encouraged the performer, and Derek found himself silently cheering along. Laura beamed at him, nudging him in the side with her pointy elbow to clap along. She stuck her fingers in between her lips and whistled in a way that pierced Derek's ears. 

But in response the feathers ruffled and lifted, and with the thump-thump-thump of the beat the pile rose. Two long, thinly defined arms held onto giant fans made of feathers, bedazzled with rhinestones at their handles. His gaze traveled along those arms, across an elegantly hollowed out collar bone and his mouth felt dry when he saw the graceful neck of Moonlite Shadow. Derek licked his lips, gnawed on the lower one carefully, and willed his gaze to go anywhere but the body. And yet he _couldn't stop staring_. By now the performer worked those fans in a mesmerizing dance. They were smaller, lighter, and fewer feathers covered the sparkling body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed jutting hipbones, a narrow waist, and the unmistakably flat chest of a man. But the blue sequined pasties covering his nipples teased him, taunted him, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to cough away the urge to see beneath them. This dance was teasing, taunting. Those feathers danced over his skin and gave Derek a tiny sneak peek at his body before ducking away behind them again. The nude colored underwear the young man wore didn't leave much to the imagination, and when he playfully lifted up the feathers to show his tight bottom Derek had to shift in his seat to escape an uncomfortable bulge against his pants. The boy was wearing underwear. This shouldn't be happening. This-- 

"Holy shit." The breathless whisper escaped his lips before he could stop it. Moonlite Shadow was looking _right at him_. Eyes surrounded in colorful shadows and feathery false lashes were trained on Derek's tight, strained expression. It made his heart pound harder and harder in his chest. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Those brown eyes shone a brilliant honey-amber. They smiled at him, laughed at him, and when he lifted the fan protecting his crotch grew wide in playful innocence. The way the boy moved should be illegal. It was dirty and raunchy and Derek felt his hips twitch when Moonlite Shadow's jerked forward with the strong beat of the music. 

And then it was over. All too soon the music ended, people cheered and whistled excessively, and Moonlite Shadow blew kisses at them. Derek had never felt so stupefied in his life. His body refused to move, and he thought it probably best he didn't. His palms were sweaty and latched tightly onto the arms of the chair in which he sat. His eyes were wide and his cheeks felt flush. Derek's chest heaved beneath his tight tee shirt and he tried to convince himself that, no, whoever this sparkly boy was had not just put on a show for him. He hadn't just tugged and pulled at feelings that'd been hibernating inside Derek since high school. Derek wanted to think about how this _was_ kind of like stripping and a completely vapid form of entertainment. But he couldn't. His mind whirled with the way the young man's body had moved, slithered this way and that, his muscles flexing. 

Laura fell back against the chair, gasping and fanning at herself. "That boy is _beautiful_ ," she laughed, looking toward Derek. Her smile grew when he didn't even look her way, still staring stupidly at the stage. 

The rest of the show came and went, and Derek wouldn't have been able to tell anyone anything about it besides that first act. Not that he was going to admit to going to Madam LuLu's Burlesque Club to any of his co-workers, and he barely had friends. Erica would laugh at him and Boyd would judge silently. Isaac might sympathize, considering he'd apparently pined over the same guy for years in college. But-- Wait. No. Derek was not _pining_ for some pretty boy burlesque dancer he'd seen once and would never see again. 

\--------

Or maybe he would see him again. 

"Oh."

Derek liked to think he sounded noncommittal, and just surprised to run into someone else's shopping cart as he turned the corner. The bread and milk in his arms tumbled toward and into the other person's cart. He should apologize. He should reach down and take his items and leave. But his body remained frozen, rigid where he stood. 

Honey amber eyes looked from the cart up toward Derek and the young man smiled. "No worries man."

_Oh god._


	2. It's Just Yogurt

Honey amber eyes looked from the cart up toward Derek and the young man smiled. "No worries man."

"Sorry." The word, forceful and loud, came out uncomfortably between Derek's lips. 

Those damned eyes lifted toward Derek, and his wide smile returned. "It's just yogurt," he laughed, brow's raising in surprise. And Derek couldn't help think back to Saturday night when those eyebrows lifted at him and feathers revealed much more than a Captain America shirt and jeans did right now. The young man shifted, and if Derek hadn't known better he'd say it was uncomfortably. Veins pulsed and pushed against the back of his hand as long, strong fingers picked at the tee shirt. "Laundry day, ya know?" he laughed. But this laugh was different. Derek heard a tinge of uncertainty and it made his heart pinch. 

"I just prefer Iron Man, is all," he offered. Derek immediately regretted those words because not only was he _not_ a big enough fan to hold this conversation, but he was barely a big enough fan to own a tee shirt. Which he didn't. 

But he reconsidered his regret the way the other's face lit right back up. He even laughed. It was such a sweet, carefree sound. The smile was the same. Bright and friendly, stretching easily across the young man's face. "Think you dropped this," he teased, leaning over the cart to pick up Derek's bread and milk, which had fallen on and burst open a yogurt. The cold pink stuff was all over the carton and metal grate of the cart. 

"Sorry," he repeated, this time softer. He stared at that comic book tee shirt for a long time, thinking maybe he saw some glitter on the hem of it. All night after the show he pondered how Moonlite Shadow got the glitter off his body. He wondered what it'd feel like to touch those sinewy muscles. He could spend hours in the shower, until the water ran ice cold, scrubbing, picking, and even licking the pesky glitter off his body. He'd analyze every inch, look at him over and over again, just to make sure the glitter was all gone. Yes. Just to get rid of the glitter. He'd get the glitter off those cupid's bow lips, pretty and pale without a ton of lipstick smothering them. His adorable, slightly up-turned nose and freckle (or were those moles?) covered face. He'd make sure every single fleck was gone. 

Derek's gaze shot up when he heard the young man clear his throat. His cheeks were pale pink and his gaze shifted, like he might be embarrassed by something. For a moment Derek looked confused. The corners of his lips tugged downwards and he looked around, immediately feeling the urge to ward off whatever brought this beautiful creature discomfort. And then he realized it was him. He hadn't moved an inch and was totally blocking the exit of the aisle. Clearing his throat he muttered another apology before side-stepping the cart, letting him pass. 

"Th-thanks," he replied, moving forward uncertainly. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, and disappointment, Derek dragged his feet farther down the aisle, gaze searching for some ridiculous low-calorie, fat free, all natural cereal Laura wanted. He was perfectly content with Shredded Wheat, but she hated the way it was either too scratchy and stiff or soggy. Derek liked when it got soggy. 

"Hey!"

Slowly Derek pried his gaze from the list in his hand and tilted his head to the side curiously. It hadn't been an angry or challenging greeting. Just something to get his attention. His eyes landed on the performer, ruffling hastily through the pockets of his jeans. Derek pretended that his eyes didn't follow how those hands disappeared into the pockets, pulling the pants tighter around his butt. 

"I, um... You look really familiar, and I think..." 

Whatever happened to the graceful, playful confidence of Moonlite Shadow melted away in these harsh fluorescents and turned this young man, who looked more like a boy than ever, into a bumbling, flailing mess. The corners of Derek's mouth twitched upward, threatening to smile. "Here," he offered what looked like a business card toward Derek. 

Prying his eyes away from slightly parted lips he glanced down and amusement gave way to confusion. Cautiously he reached out and took it, flipping it over. On one side embossed, obnoxiously colorful and sparkly, were the words "Moonlite Shadow: Entertainer Extraordinaire." Derek turned it over and saw, scribbled in pen, a name and a number. He noticed it wasn't the same one printed on the front. 

"It's, um, my business card? I realize not many of us have them. Kind of new to this and I thought it'd be a good way-- well now I work at LuLu's so it's not... but if you wanted to know when the next show was you could call. Or whatever," he suggested. His slender shoulders lifted in a shrug and he licked his lips. Stiles (because Derek was certain Stilinski wasn't a first name, but also knew for a fact 'Stiles' was not a real name either. This was at least better than calling him Moonlite Shadow.) glanced at his watch and squared his shoulders, grinning at Derek. When he saw the confused hesitance on Derek's face his enthusiasm faltered. "You just... I mean it's not a big audience and you looked like you enjoyed it. Maybe didn't understand it, but that's... normal...." 

Stiles trailed off and Derek shook his head curtly. "I went because my sister wanted to. I don't--"

"Oh, okay," he sighed in relief, apparently not hearing anything else Derek said. "So she's not your girlfriend?" he asked, perking up. The curious fire in Stiles's eyes made Derek hesitate again. He didn't want to believe there was some kind of hope there, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go again. Laura already mentioned it. Stiles just kept looking at him and Derek realized he hadn't answered the question. 

"No. Like I said, 'sister'," he confirmed, providing a little more attitude than perhaps necessary. But seriously? He needed to confirm that his _sister_ was not his _girlfriend_? Derek didn't even want to think about where this guy'd grown up. 

"Alright. Next Friday, then."

Derek looked down at the card, face contorted in pained indecisiveness. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly before looking up to finally respond with firm and confident "no". But Stiles was already gone and Derek was left, once again, feeling awestruck and dumbfounded. For the next five minutes he stood there, milk and bread tucked under one arm, staring at Moonlite Shadow's card. Realizing he'd been steam rolled into agreeing to something Derek scowled, huffed, and decided he'd never step foot back in Madam LuLu's club for the sole purpose of showing Stiles he was his _own_ man who made his _own_ decisions.

Which is why it came as no surprise to him at all when he found himself in Madam LuLu's Friday night.


	3. Moolite Picasso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."

Madam LuLu's may or may not have become a habit. 

Really, Derek thought their Old Fashioned's should come with a warning and so should the entertainment. 

The Friday after he'd ran into Stiles in the grocery he went to Madam LuLu's to see him perform. Immediately upon his return Laura knew something had happened (she claimed he was smiling, but he swore she had spies everywhere) and beat him into submission. Literally. Put him in a headlock and shoved his face into the couch until he muffled he'd tell her. It really wasn't that big of a deal. But she'd demanded to see the card and declared they were going and that was that. Derek argued this time, but he wasn't even sure why. He _wanted_ to go. He wanted to see Stiles perform. He just didn't want to seem eager. 

And of course he made the mistake of saying that loud when he was thinking about it and thought he was alone. 

Which was how he wound up being surrounded by Laura, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd that Friday night. Mortified Derek tried to lock himself in his room when they showed up, but Laura told him to stop being a baby. As expected when Moonlite Shadow took the stage, glittery and gorgeous as ever, Erica poked fun at him. He saw Isaac gulp, though, just as mesmerized by the fluid movements and twirling fans. Even Boyd might've looked flushed if he wasn't so dark. At least Derek knew he wasn't alone. And when Isaac asked him on Monday morning if they could maybe go back sometime (because the fries were really good, that was it) Derek said yes too quickly. 

It became a sort of routine, running into Stiles at the grocery store on Sunday afternoons after watching him perform on Fridays. They'd roam the aisles together while Stiles rambled on and on about video games and movies and television shows. He talked about his father, who was the Sheriff of his small hometown, and gushed about his best friend Scott and the fun they had together. By the third week Derek started talking about his obnoxious older sister Laura, their parents that'd died when he was twelve (and Stiles had the grace to not ask how), and how happy he was to be doing what he loved. Once Derek swore he heard an invitation in Stiles's voice when he mentioned a camping trip to the beach, but decied that was in his head and ignored it.

Sometimes Moonlite Shadow wore a dress, that he'd shed to reveal a lacy garder belt, panties, and matching bra. Derek and Isaac hadn't been able to look at each other the whole ride home and on Sunday Derek sent Laura shopping claiming he felt ill. 

Stiles bumped into Laura, though, in the cereal aisle. He recognized her from the shows, said he was sorry Derek felt sick. He bought Derek some chicken noodle soup and sent it with Laura and a message that he hoped Derek was better by Friday because Stiles had been working on something new he thought Derek might really enjoy. 

\-------

Friday night Derek sat in his usual chair, unsure how he felt about having a usual chair and the waitress referring to him by name and knowing his drink order, when in the show he'd need another. She was kind and friendly as always, teasing Isaac with his cute curly hair and telling Erica how pretty she was.

When the music started it wasn't the same. Moonlite Shadow wasn't the first act anymore, so now Derek had to sit through an agonizing fifteen minutes of girls that were funny and talented and gorgeous, of all shapes and sizes. He was used to how fast his heart pounded, how tightly wound his stomach got, and the anxiety that came with the sheer terror and excitement of seeing Stiles. This time was no different, but the show sure as hell was. 

Instead of campy jazz the soft plucking of a guitar came across the room. The lights were more singular, spotted on a small stool in the middle of the stage with a table and colorful jars on it. His eyes immediately darted to the edge of the stage when there was movement, but instead of feathers or sequins there was Stiles. Just Stiles. Painted in white from head to toe, powder covering his skin and hair. No makeup, just white eyebrows, eyelashes, and lips. His expression was soft and sweet as he pranced over the stage like a ballet dancer. Derek's eyes followed the long, pointed lines of his legs up to his graceful curling and dipping arms. The crowd was silent in awe and appreciation. 

Stretched low across Stiles's waist were cheeky, tight underwear that matched the color of his painted skin. It made him look like a marble statue come to life, graceful and elegant as he stretched and slowly spun around, displaying himself pure and white for the audience. He sat down on the stool. He tucked his lower back in, pushing his butt out a little as he sat, back mostly to the audience.

Derek gulped, uncertain and feeling vulnerable even though he wasn't the one almost completely naked on stage. Stiles moved fluidly with the music, picking up a jar of bright red. He looked playfully over his shoulder at the audience and gingerly tipped the jar. Derek's eyes followed the red paint drop as it snaked from Stiles's shoulder down his back, down his shoulder blades, and dipped into sweet dimples on his lower back. 

Stiles spun on the stool so that the audience, so that Derek, could see more of him. He picked up a jar of blue and let a thick line trickle down his forearm, lifting it up so that it slid all the way down the crook of his elbow and curled around to the back of his bicep. The fingers of his other hand gently worked it into his skin, spreading out the blue. Derek's eyes hungrily watched the streaks of white appear and slowly disappear, mixing in with the blue.

He was always excited watching Stiles, thrilled at his movements and his dancing. But this wasn't just entertainment. This was something special. Something else. Derek was jealous, for a moment, that everyone got to see this. Because he'd be damned if Stiles's eyes _didn't_ keep locking onto his, and if Stiles _wasn't_ eying him when he teasingly lifted a thigh and poured red paint onto it. His hand confidently stroked along the surface, dipping down between his legs and he spread them just enough so the audience could see him do it. 

Within two minutes Stiles's arms were covered in swirls of blue and read. He had a jar of yellow in his hand and tilted his head back. Derek licked his lips at the high arch of Stiles's Adam's apple and neck, bared to the light. He yearned to clamp his mouth upon it, to rake them across his skin and mark this gorgeous, graceful creature for himself. Yellow drops hit and trickled Stiles's chest, and Derek watched the muscles spasm lightly in surprise at the cold paint. Stiles rubbed along his chest and stomach, careful to avoid his pert, erect nipples but not the underwear. He smeared the yellow into the red down his thighs and along his hips. 

Then Stiles grinned mischievously at the audience and picked up a black jar. A few people cheered, seeing the Moonlite Shadow they were used to, and knowing he was up to something special. 

Slowly, purposefully, Stiles dipped his finger into the black paint. He swirled it around and brought it out, dripping so that the black made thin veins down his hand and wrist. Pushing his chest out and arching his back Stiles rubbed the black finger around his nipple. He created a thick, dark ring around it before touching it, sucking in his bottom lip as the sensation hit him. Derek picked up his drink, willing his hand to be still, so that he could dampen his dry throat. 

Stiles did the same with his other nipple and dipped his finger back into the small black jar. His fiery amber eyes, so clever and evil, scanned the crowd and then locked onto Derek. He spread his legs again, exposing the bulge in the white underwear for all to see. The crowd jeered egging him on, and it took all of Derek's self control to not scream at them to shut up, to look away, because this was _his_.

He couldn't help it. He whimpered and shifted in his seat when Stiles ran that finger along the stifled length of his cock, leaving behind a thick black line. The room felt hot. Derek's skin was on fire, his heart beating too hard to be healthy in his chest. Stiles's finger dipped back in the pot and then drew lines from his hips to his cock, as if making an arrow for Derek's attention. If any of his friends noticed that his jeans looked just a little too tight, or like he might pass out, they were kind enough to not say anything. 

Their gazes broke as Stiles continued his act, going back to the black paint to draw a line down the center of his face, across his lips, and over one eye. He dipped and swirled in his seat elegantly, pointing his fingertips and toes all the while. The muscles beneath his thin, painted flesh flexed and rippled against the colors that melted together across his body. Leaning back he pointed his toes and brought up his legs, resting one heel on the table and the other leg atop it. It would take a lot of strength to hold himself up like that, to lean back and create such a relaxed position, but no part of Stiles trembled as the lights turned off. 

The same could not be said for Derek.

\-------

"Just wait for him after the show. I've seen people do it. It's not a big deal," Erica said, shrugging. She had one arm looped through Boyd's and the other flipped perfect blonde curls over her shoulder. She just exuded confidence and sex appeal. She also made everything sound too simple. 

Derek rolled his eyes. "People who are _friends and significant others_ , not... Whatever I am," he grumbled, waving his hands around as he headed back to the car. 

"Is it really that big of a deal?"

Derek spun on Isaac, looking betrayed.

Isaac shrugged and held onto himself, looking insecure. "I'm just saying, Derek. You guys have been flirting and talking in the grocery store for almost two months. You go to his shows every Friday night, and he bought you soup when you weren't even sick."

Well when Isaac said it like that, so concise, it made them sound like friends. But what kind of friends hung out while grocery shopping? It wasn't that Derek hadn't wanted to ask Stiles on a date, he just had been out of the game so long he honestly hadn't considered the flirtation was mutual. Stiles flailed around and laughed too loudly, but since that initial encounter he never looked awkward or uncomfortable. Not like Derek did when they reached for something at the same time and caught one another's hands instead, or when they parted ways and Derek lingered a little too long by Stiles's beat up jeep.

"We're leaving," he growled decisively. 

And that, of course, was when he realized they didn't have Laura. He sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, and his head followed suit in an exasperated motion. "I swear to god I'm going to just leave her," he breathed. She'd taken to sometimes hanging around with the waitresses or performers after the shows. She'd invited a few over for drinks before and Derek holed up in his room the entire night listenign to them have "girl talk" and squeal. When the hell was she going to go home anyway?

"Hey Der-Der!" God he hated that nickname. 

Derek spun around to see Laura bouncing toward them with a girl named Clara, stage name Blue Velvet, and _Stiles_ following behind her. His stomach dropped through his toes. "Clara and Stiles said they'd come over for a few drinks," she declared happily. 

Derek looked like someone just told him his puppy died.

Stiles just beamed at him, giving him that sinful smile that should be illegal. He looked from Derek to his companions and introduced himself with small laughs and a big smile, saying he appreciated that they were there nearly every week. "Oh. My best friend's coming into town tonight to visit. Do you mind if he comes too? He should be here... somewhere..." Stiles stood on his toes and craned his neck. A neck still slightly stained with red paint. 

Derek licked his lips but before he could do much about it (like, really, he wouldn't have) Stiles was waving like a mad man shouting, "Scott! Dude! _Hey_!"

And when a tanned boy with stylish dark hair and big brown puppy eyes trotted over to gives Stiles an infectiously enthusiastic hug Isaac looked like he might vomit. Stiles turned around, arm slung around Scott. "This is my best friend, Scott McCall. Guy stuck with me all throughout high school and made this long distance thing work because he just wuvs me so much," Stiles teased, pushing out his lips and talking to Scott like a baby. 

The other male scoffed and pawed at Stiles to get him away. Derek's eyes cooly analyzed his smile and crooked jaw as he introduced himself to Laura, Derek, Erica, and Boyd. When he got to Isaac his face lit up and he reeled the pale, lanky boy (who looked like he might keel over any second) in for a big hug. "Isaac dude! Haven't seen you since college! How've ya been?!"

And suddenly exactly _which_ Scott Isaac had loved during his college years made sense, and Derek was a little less embarrassed at his sister's brashness and a little more interested in what might happen tonight. So he looked at Laura and smirked, jerking his head down the street. "Let's go then." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a lot of indecisiveness about where to take this here's chapter 3. Chapter 4 shouldn't be too far behind.  
> This performance is inspired by (aka a rip off of) Lily Verlaine's [Picasso](http://vimeo.com/13710650) piece (WARNING: nudity)
> 
> Excuse me for any mistakes. it was hard to post this and preview it for some reason, and I'm lazy. >>


	4. Hazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the night does not go exactly as planned, but who's saying that's a bad thing?

Derek hadn't searched for apartments with entertaining guests in mind. He wasn't a party animal and even Isaac, his closest friend, had only been there once before to borrow a book. There was something about having multiple people invade his personal space, the safe haven of his home, that didn't sit well with Derek. But Laura, the evil, beautiful genius she was managed to snag Stiles to go back with them. And if that meant having five other people over then so be it.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd arrived just after Derek, Laura, and Clara. They politely took off their shoes and asked where to put their jackets. Derek didn't really have a coat rack, so he ushered them back to his bedroom to put their coats on the bed. It wasn't a huge apartment, being one bedroom with the dinning and living rooms as one space and the kitchen separated with a counter peninsula. Laura offered and poured drinks, bringing out more alcohol than Derek ever remembered purchasing in a month of his college career never mind now. His gaze narrowed when he realized she'd planned this, _had been_ planning this.

"When everyone leaves you're going to explain to me how--"

_Knock knock knock!_

"That must be Stiles and Scott! Derek be a good host and let them in," she interrupted, shooing her brother away hastily. Laura and Clara settled on the love seat with Isaac smashed between them, the two women sipping at their wine and giggling at how bashful and adorable he was. Erica sat on Body's lap in the oversized arm chair, leaving the couch. Derek had a sinking feeling he'd been left out of something.

"Oh good!" Stiles exclaimed, sighing in relief when Derek opened the door. "I thought I'd gotten the wrong apartment. Scott kept telling me you said one-forty-two instead of two-fourteen," he laughed, throwing his hands up. He clamped one down on Derek's shoulder and shook it gently. 

Derek just stared, lightly confused and frozen because _Stiles was touching him_. Not like a simple graze in the grocery store and it shouldn't have been exciting, a hand on his shoulder, but Derek could feel his pulse all the way up in his ears. 

"Are you okay?" Scott asked, looking both sheepish and concerned. 

Stiles just shook his head and nudged past Derek, his arm gliding right against Derek's chest and stomach. "He does that sometimes. He's a really great road block," he joked, flashing a smile over his shoulder at Derek. 

"You can put your coats in the bedroom." Well that was certainly more forceful than he'd wanted. But Stiles didn't miss a beat, pointing at the doorway to the left. The one to the right was his bathroom. Really a hassle that he had to cross the apartment to pee in the middle of the night, but it wasn't that far anyway. Derek got Scott a beer and Stiles some of the wine before sitting down with his scotch. 

He sat stiffly against the arm of the couch, wondering what the hell he was supposed to talk about now. He was the host so that was his job, right? But Laura and Clara were in the middle of a story about Clara's shoes or something, Isaac staring pointedly at the glass in his hands. Erica tilted her head, looking at him expectantly, and Derek felt an even more awkward, thick silence fall around him. He glanced down at the glass in his own hands, noticing that Stiles was spread out comfortably, like he was here all the time, like a friend, and their knees bumped together on occasion. Stiles was asking about Scott's flight and job when Erica suddenly spoke up, loud and above the other small chatter. 

"So, Stiles. That was some show tonight. Don't you think, Derek?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as red lips wrapped elegantly around the wine glass. 

Well fuck you too Erica. 

"Uh, yeah," he replied, clearing his throat. He didn't want to sound too thrilled by seeing the boy next to him drench himself in paint, so Derek went with a completely cool, non-committed tone. When he looked at Stiles he could have _sworn_ that smile fell a little and disappointment flashed through his pretty amber eyes. 

Subconsciously he shifted, tilting his body toward Stiles, feeling like he'd might as well have said "It sucked." It wasn't bad. It wasn't just "whatever". It was magical and beautiful and made him feel like he hadn't in _years_ , but how was he supposed to say that? To Stiles? With everyone else he knew in the world in the room?

"I mean... it was different," he continued. That made Stiles's bright smile dull and thin out a little, like he was trying too hard to keep it up. "In a good way, I mean," he added hastily. Derek moved a hand around, trying to find the words for it that wouldn't make him sound like a total idiot. "It was just... you know... I had a hard time--"

"Taking your eyes off him?" Laura offered. 

A quiet squeak halted words in Derek's throat and he threw a look at his sister before glaring down at his glass. He was too busy to notice Stiles shift and his cheeks turn pale pink. 

"I mean I just feel bad for girls who had to follow that-- no offense Clara. I think everyone in the audience was completely enraptured by you, you know. Normally you're a lot of fun and glittery and playful. This was different, more intimate," she explained. Derek wanted to punch her for being able to say what he couldn't. 

"Have you always wanted to be a burlesque dancer?" Isaac asked, gaze pointedly moving directly to Stiles and not stopping-- not for a second, on Scott next to him. 

Both Stiles and Scott laughed, though not unkindly. Stiles shook his head and ran a hand through what was now an unruly mop of soft brown hair, little flecks of paint caught in some of the strands. "Not really. I'm not even sure how long I'll stick with this. It's a fun hobby, but that's it. I'm going to school right now, trying to figure out what I want to do," he explained, shrugging as he sipped the wine. 

Derek's eyes lifted just enough to see the pale yellowy liquid swirl in the lowering glass. The base sat neatly on Stiles's thigh and long fingers curled delicately around the stem. He wanted to reach out, to brush his knuckles against those still stained with paint. "You don't know yet?" he asked curiously, and it wasn't until Stiles laughed that he realized it was aloud. 

"Nope," he replied, popping the "p" with his lips. "But that's half the fun, right? Figuring out who you are and what you wanna do? I took a year off after high school to travel a little, toured the country and learned new things. I'd never been out of Beacon Hills, so I figured it was time to expand my horizons, ya know? I'm taking some history classes, literature, psychology, and chemistry-- the bane of my existence frankly. I just don't give a flying fuck about covalent bonds or isotopes."

Derek was starting to resent their grocery store conversations. Never once had they talked about life goals or what Stiles wanted to do or what he wanted out of it. They talked about vapid, trivial things like music and Derek went on a rant one day about stocks and bonds. Stiles had listened with a small smile and what looked like interested eyes but who was really interested in that? He hadn't thought once about asking Stiles what he did _outside_ of burlesque, if he was in school, how old he even was. Derek wanted to know those things, but he didn't know how to ask. So he just let Stiles ramble about whatever was on his mind and now found himself in the midst of a conversation he was all too eager to join and afraid to let end. 

"If you don't want to dance then why do you?" he asked, hoping he sounded more curious than harsh. 

Laura made a small warning noise and he muttered something akin to an apology. Stiles chuckled and wrapped his hand around the back of Derek's head, ruffling his thick dark hair playfully. The touch sent shockwaves through Derek and he found the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "I didn't mean I don't like it. It's just not for the rest of my life, ya know?" he clarified. Derek looked up, not quiet understanding, and found himself much, much closer to Stiles. Their eyes connected and he licked his lips, two seconds away from surging forward. His heart pounded and all he could think about was how easy it'd be to lean forward and kiss Stiles, especially with his hand cradling the back of his head like that. 

But if it was so easy why didn't he do it? Why did he pull away and lean against the back of the couch, looking intently at anything except Stiles. 

"Then why do it?" Boyd asked. Everyone looked a little thankful toward him for shattering the sexual tension and easing that disappointment off Stiles's face again. Boyd didn't talk a lot, preferred to absorb, but when relevant or curious enough he'd use that deep, sweet voice.

Stiles's smile could have lit up the entire room when he sat back to think. Scott tried to catch Isaac's gaze during the silence, but the one time they'd made eye contact Isaac turned to say something quietly to Laura about the alcohol she'd picked up. Scott didn't bother hiding his dismay and Stiles's hand absently patted his friend's knee. He didn't even look, but he'd sensed the drooping shoulders and pouting lips. Derek was jealous the two had a bond like that, and knew immediately he wanted that. He wanted more than that. 

"Well," Stiles sighed, setting the glass down on the table. He folded his hands over his stomach, and Derek pretended not to notice the way it made his shirt stretch over his arms and chest, or the way his elbow rested against Derek's thigh. "Burlesque actually originated as a male performance technique, kind of like a vaudeville thing where they'd parody or exaggerate plays, literary works, and it evolved into this sort of satire on female sexuality," he explained, hands and face coming alive as he spoke. 

"But it's not just about women and how hot they can look in pasties and feathers. I was always a really awkward guy in high school--" his hand shot out and smacked Scott in the arm when his best friend snorted, a good natured smile splitting his lips, "still kind of am, but I'm not as insecure. I had all these anxieties and doubts about myself and who I was and the way I look. My first roommate out here wanted to take classes, but was afraid to do it alone, so I went with her. I got there and there were only like seven other people in the class, all women. At first I was terrified 'cause I was like, 'I'm the only dude here you've gotta be fucking kidding me.' And I'd always heard of this as a girl thing, you know like Betty Paige or Dita von Tease, so I was totally ready to bail. I'm all lanky and clumsy and uncomfortable performing, and so I figured I'd stay a class or two until my roommate got comfortable and then leave.

"But you stayed, obviously," Laura pointed out curiously.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. 'Cause one of the first things they have you do is explain why you wanna be there and what you hope to accomplish. We went around the circle and all these women, younger than me and some way older and all with different bodies, explained their insecurities and how they wanted to feel beautiful. They talked about not having confidence in themselves and how they wanted to feel empowered and I just thought, 'Shit. That's _exactly_ how I feel.' It didn't even have to do with how hot you could look or working out to get a better body. These girls aren't strippers or exotic dancers; they're not looking to be fetishized or match the women on magazine covers. They're entertainers and they want to represent this idea of total self-acceptance: loving yourself for who you are, as you are. It's fun and entertaining and that's the best part. I was afraid it'd be like this serious performance thing, but I could be me and be goofy and it was _okay_. No one ever told me that before. It was always people telling me to shut up or calm down or whatever. I don't have to worry about being popular or anything except who I am, and the first time on stage with all the feathers and glitter and the costume it just clicked.

"I felt--" he stopped, throwing his head back as he laughed. It broke Derek out of this trance. He'd propped his elbow into the back of the couch and leaned in, entranced by what Stiles was saying because it was deep and powerful and so obviously meant the world to him. Derek had seen a glimmer of that awkward, clumsy boy when they first met in the grocery store, and saw glimpses of him since, but that wasn't Stiles. He was one of the most confident, strongest people Derek had ever met, so open and beautiful and accepting. 

"Sorry. I think I got a little carried away," Stiles apologized, looking around the room. Everyone stared at him intently, including Scott who was grinning in awe, like he got to see a new side of Stiles since they'd parted. 

Before he could stop himself Derek's fingers brushed against the back of Stiles's head and he asked, "You felt what?"

Stiles turned his big brown eyes toward Derek in delighted surprise that warmed Derek all over. But he pulled a face, contorting in pained confusion as he debated whether or not to say what he'd experienced. "Sexy," he confessed. Laura and Clara whistled in unison and Erica cat called, which made Stiles blush furiously and Derek want to punch all of them in their pretty faces. "I feel weird saying it, it's just that was the first time in my life I felt attractive and desirable and just fine with who I am. I want to keep feeling that way, so I keep performing," he explained, throwing his grin right at Derek. 

"Well you were sexy as fuck tonight, that's for sure," Laura declared, raising her glass toward the young man. 

Stiles blushed again and raised his glass appreciatively. Everyone sipped in the silence and Derek refused to move his hand from behind Stiles's head. It was okay. They were friends now. They could touch casually. He still hadn't figured out if Stiles was gay, or bi, but didn't know how to ask or not. All he wanted was to see that smile and that blush, and let Stiles know every day that he was indeed beautiful and sexy despite how clumsy and lanky he was. Or maybe because of it. 

"So how do you know Isaac?"

Scott glanced at Erica and for once Derek was so glad she was a prying, nosey bitch so that he didn't have to be the only one feeling uncomfortable with desire that night. Isaac's wide eyes shot up at Erica, looking hurt for some reason, betrayed, and them flitted to Scott. The tanned boy barely seemed to notice and just shrugged. "We had some classes together in college and were roommates senior year. I came back from going abroad with my girlfriend at the time, and needed a place to sublet. One of my friends was friends with the guy who was leaving Isaac's house that semester," he explained, grinning across the living room at Isaac. "We hung out a lot, actually."

"Oh!" Stiles exclaimed, slamming his palm against his forehead. "I've totally met you before!" he laughed, gesturing at Isaac. "Kind of. I was Skyping with Scott one time and you walked by, and he made you come over to talk. I remember thinking you were so god damned cute half-awake with your curls all over the place," he teased, laughing as Isaac blushed slightly. 

"Yeah. We were pretty close," Isaac confirmed, grinning in spite of the ache in his heart. "How is Allison, anyway?" he asked. 

Scott pulled a face like he was trying not to frown or get sad. "We broke up a few months after graduation," he replied. 

"Oh?"

Derek was certain Isaac thought he just sounded curious, but there was so much hope in that question it nearly broke his heart. Isaac was Derek's closest friend, and he loved him to death. Part of him wanted to pull the kid aside and warn him about this, about getting in too deep, but another part wanted so desperately to see him happy. He knew that Isaac meant well every time he brought up Stiles and he wanted to help in some similar fashion. He just didn't know how. But Laura would, and he could already see the gears in her head cranking away. 

Scott's grin widened a little and he nodded. "Yeah. We still talk sometimes, like we're still friends. But we kind of grew apart. We wanted different things," he explained, gaze fixed pointedly at Isaac in a way Derek didn't think the curly haired boy understood. But he did. 

They got new drinks and talked about what movies that were in theaters they wanted to see and new restaurants they tried recently. Laura got them to play a drinking game with cards, though Stiles switched to water halfway through because he had to drive; Derek did the same because he didn't really want to be drunk anyway, not this close to Stiles. They migrated to the floor for it, and soon after Boyd and Erica left to go home. Clara got a call from her boyfriend and she left, and Laura took a hint and refreshed the boys' drinks before making an excuse to get bread and milk or something. 

Scott wobbled a little, giggling as he leaned against Isaac's side. He went off about how they used to hang out all the time and play video games, and if Isaac had Live they should play COD together sometime. Isaac's face was flush with alcohol and he got just as close, forehead resting against Scott's as they talked. The whispers weren't as soft as the two boys thought, but Derek was amused to watch them all the same. He leaned his back against the couch and folded an arm back to rest on the cushions. Legs sprawled out his socked feet dug into the area rug, wondering if he should suggest cutting them off or leaving them alone. Isaac was smiling like Derek had never seen before. 

"They're so fucking cute together," Stiles huffed, leaning against the couch right next to Derek. His legs sprawled and folded every which way, one propped up and leaning against Derek's thigh. He looked down at them briefly before swallowing hard and looking up at Stiles curiously. 

"What?"

Stiles scoffed and gestured wildly toward the two boys. Scott's fingers were in Isaac's hair and Isaac gripped the front of Scott's shirt tightly, gaze down as he tried to squeeze something out of drunken lips. Derek couldn't hear what they were saying, but had his guesses. They fit well together. Scott was attentive and affectionate, stroking and comforting a nervous Isaac as if he'd done it hundreds of times. 

" _Look at them_!" Stiles hissed, trying to keep quiet so he didn't interrupt. "I knew Scott liked him. I _knew it_. All he talked about in college was Isaac, and it was the same way he used to always talk about Allison in high school. It was always Isaac this and Isaac that. I just didn't think he knew it, ya know? The first time I had a crush on a guy I wasn't as confused, since, you know, I didn't have a serious girlfriend at the time. I was just desperately, head-over-heels in love with the fabulous Lydia Martin, who completely ignored my existence," he explained. 

Words kind of just tended to spill out of Stiles's mouth, Derek was starting to notice. But he grinned now because he knew at least Stiles liked boys. "Isaac's mentioned him a few times," he confessed, nestling back comfortably, and maybe getting closer to Stiles in the process. "Every time a guy hits on him or he tries to date someone, all he can talk about is how they're not Scott. But doesn't he live kind of far away?" he asked, turning back to look at Stiles.

Again they were a lot closer than he'd anticipated. Either he was subtly, magnetically drawn to Stiles and didn't realize it or the other was moving closer too. Derek's stomach tangled in a hot bundle of knots, but he refused to believe the latter. Still, his gaze gravitated toward those gorgeous pink lips and the way Stiles's tongue always darted across them. Like right now. 

It took Stiles a few seconds to respond, his gaze flitting all over Derek's face and lingering on his lips. They were less than a half a foot apart. It'd be so easy, so simple. "Yeah, kind of. He's thinking about moving around here, though... I don't know. He's here for a few days. Let's not ruin it for them, 'kay?" he suggested, fanning his leg out to bump against Derek's. 

Derek grinned and nodded. "Okay."

The world went away then. Derek watched Stiles, testing the waters again as his hand crept back toward that hair. Stiles leaned into the touch and his smile grew a little. One of those undoubtedly skilled, long hands slid across Derek's knee, up along his thigh a little. He let out a shaky breath and worked his finders deeper into Stiles's hair. The younger male swallowed and Derek would have watched his Adam's apple bob if he wasn't too caught up staring at the way Stiles's tongue licked his lips. Derek's grip in Stiles's hair tightened as his heart beat went faster and faster and faster. His skin grew hot and everything else looked and sounded fuzzy. All he saw, all he wanted to see, was Stiles right in front of him. Slowly, tentatively, Derek leaned in a little, using his grip in Stiles's hair to suggest the performer move in also. He could feel Stiles's warm breath against his mouth, the ghostly presence of his lips, and Derek's eyes fluttered shut, unable to believe--

Nothing. Unable to believe nothing because nothing happened. 

"Scott! Wait!"

Isaac's voice cracked through the silence.

Something hard hit Stiles's side and the two men jerked away from each other. Derek's eyes darted up to Scott, hurrying out of the apartment, and then immediately toward Isaac who looked two seconds away from crying, tears already welling up in his eyes. "Guess we didn't have to ruin it, huh?" Stiles joked weakly, already standing up. 

Derek grunted in response and stood, heading for Isaac. Stiles went into the bedroom to get their coats and came back to Isaac using Derek as a body pillow on the couch, fingers curled tightly into his shirt. The television played quietly and Derek had turned off the lights except for a lamp on a side table. He looked apologetically up at Stiles, still not quite sure what was going on. "If you find out anything from yours let me know, 'cause mine's not talking," he joked, using the same dry, weak tone Stiles had. 

Stiles grinned and nodded. "I will," he promised. They'd exchanged numbers a while ago when Laura demanded to go to that second show and forced Derek to call. She'd yelled to Stiles from the background and told him to save Derek's number and keep him updated because there was no way the big sourpatch kid was going to call himself. He still remembered how hard and earnestly Stiles had laughed at that. 

On his way out Stiles stopped in the doorway and turned around to look at Derek, who was stroking Isaac's back and making soft, shushing noises. "Hey Derek?" he asked. 

Derek's gaze lifted from the television and his eyebrows rose. "Yeah?"

"Do you..." Stiles trailed off, fiddling with Scott's coat in his hand. "Do you wanna grab coffee or something sometime? It's not that I don't look forward to our Sunday grocery trips, I just thought it'd be nice to not be distracted by lists and stuff?" he suggested. 

There was that sweet, bashful little Stiles. Derek's heart swelled in his chest with nerves and excitement and before he let himself think about it too much he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I'd like that a lot. I have work to do this weekend, but what about next Saturday?" he suggested. 

Stiles's smile grew and he nodded. Teeth raked against his lower lip, like he was trying to bite away excitement, and he nodded more vigorously. "Yeah. Saturday. Thanks for having us, Derek."

"Any time," he called after Stiles. The door closed and he sighed contently, damned if he didn't mean it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of doing a one-shot of Scott and Isaac one shot, explaining/expanding their relationship more later on.  
> Thanks for all the positive feedback, and I'm sorry I'm so slow adding chapters. <3333
> 
> ST: [Walk the Moon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCEMwpBEze8)  
> They're so Sterek to me. The whole album. I can't even.


	5. Playing Pretend

"Derek? Hey! Derek!"

There was this heavy weight on his chest, like he couldn't breathe. He wasn't even really sure what was going on. One second he was sitting in his favorite café, enjoying coffee and a sandwich before heading back to the office, and the next there was Stiles. Stiles and a girl. Stiles with a girl. Derek tried to pretend he didn't see it. He didn't notice her fingers working through that soft hair, which had been combed and styled, looking the sexy kind of messy that was on purpose. He pretended he didn't see her laughing at everything he said, fawning over him, fixing the collar of his shirt. It wasn't even a nice shirt. It was red and blue checkered, open over a white tee shirt. A tee shirt that stretched magnificently across his chest and made him look too fit for words. It should be illegal to look as good in clothes as he did out of them.

"Hi."

He barely managed to squeeze out the word, throat raw and sore. Derek was too busy pretending to not see Stiles, too busy ignoring him. He couldn't be bothered to actually talk to Stiles. See: ignoring him. All of that effort had been for naught, though. The only thing on his mind, all week, was Stiles. They texted back and forth now. Obviously he'd misread a lot of them. All of them. He'd thought they were flirting, not just being friendly. Their date on Saturday probably wasn't even really a date. It was coffee. Big fucking deal. He'd made a mountain out of a mole hill and this was going to sting something fierce.

He'd been a fool to think last weekend's almost-kiss had been for any reason besides the few glasses of wine Stiles had.

Of course he couldn't escape now. He couldn't just pick up his things as soon as Stiles got there. A large part of him was hurting, fighting back the sore ache in his throat and chest. They were friends. Stiles was the beautiful, intelligent, talented one who could smile effortlessly and laugh at everything. Derek was the creepy one who remembered exactly which trail mix Stiles liked (Monster trailmix because it had the most chocolate and candy pieces in it and "what good were salty nuts without sweet chocolate"?) and went to his shows every weekend to watch him prance around half naked. Obviously this crush, this thing that'd been clawing and poking at him and plauging his dreams, was one-sided.

"How are you?"

 _How are you_? So simple and casual. Derek's face was pulling downward, tugging into a scowl. He could feel it and he couldn't stop it. Bitter, morose feelings bubbled in his stomach, rising to the top.

"Fine."

Stiles looked taken aback. Derek kept his nose dutifully in his book, even though he hadn't read a single word in it since he heard Stiles's laugh the first time. Those pretty pink lips parted and closed noiselessly a few times. The performer reached out and touched Derek's arm with his fingertips. "Are you okay?"

The touch sent fire through him. Painful fire that clogged his throat and made him want to say something hurtful because he was hurting. Stiles was here with a girl, a gorgeous, flawless girl who he obviously had fun with. It was the same jealousy he'd had toward Stiles and Scott's friendship but a million times worse because this was different. They weren't just friends. Just friends didn't sit on the same side of a table, in the corner, giggling and whispering to each other.

"I'm fine. You?" he returned. Cold eyes flickered upwards toward Stiles and he immediately regretted it. There was this confused, pained look in deep honey-amber eyes he wanted to make go away. He'd caused it, too, which was even worse.

"I'm... Derek are you sure nothing's wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?"

The response came sharper, faster than he'd meant.

"Won't your _friend_ miss you?"

Stiles's lips hung open for a second and his brow furrowed in thought. "Who?" he asked.

Derek's eyes pointedly flickered past Stiles, to his table across the café, and then darted back to his book.

"Oh! Lydia's just--"

Lydia. Didn't take him long to remember that name. Lydia. The girl Stiles had been in love with and obsessed with in high school. Of course she was a flawless queen, carried herself with grace and posie and confidence. Of course she had pillowy red lips and strawberry blonde hair. She was interesting to look at, clearly interesting to talk to, and very plainly in love with Stiles right back.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, standing up.

Cut off, Stiles flinched, eyes wide and looking around. "But you haven't touched your coffee. Or your sandwich," he pointed out.

Derek shoved his book into his attaché and glared at the cup. It was paper, so he could've easily been ready to go at any minute, or done, but the white plastic top was off to let it cool, and by now he guessed it was ice cold. He hadn't taken a single sip. The sandwich sat there on its plate, normally tempting and tasty but right now looking at it made him want to throw up. "I need to get back to work," he replied hastily.

Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek's arm, coiling those strong fingers around his bicep. "Derek..."

The hope in him was too much. He couldn't stand the way Stiles was looking at him, like he might fall apart or was lost. Those were foolish thoughts. Stiles had Lydia. Stiles had who he'd always wanted. Derek didn't matter.

"I don't think I can make it Saturday."

The words tumbled out before he could stop. Stiles's grip on Derek's arm tightened for a moment and then slowly fell away. Derek's scowl melted into something fearful and he hurriedly slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

"You don't think or...?"

"I can't."

"Oh." Stiles drew in a deep breath and slipped his hands into his pockets. Looking down he shuffled his foot against the ground, shrugging like he didn't care. Because he didn't. "Well maybe some other time?"

"I don't know. I have a lot going on with work and Laura's thinking about moving down here so I have to help her look for apartments and jobs and there's the thing with Scott and Isaac, which I guess is getting better but Isaac's a mess and--" Derek was pretty sure he'd never rambled on so much in his life. He pretended he couldn't see Stiles's shoulders slumping, ignored the faint look of disappointment in his face, and cowered away from the disbelief creeping into his expression.

"Derek, I don't know--"

"Stiles?"

Both men snapped around to look at the source. Lydia stood there, prettier than a picture, with her head tilted curiously to the side. Her piercing gaze locked onto Derek and she judged him. God she sized him up and she would chew him up and spit him out without a second thought. He could see it. It was the same look his sister gave Kate when they started dating. And she'd been right. So this was for the best. Lydia wasn't intimidated, but she was protecting someone she cared about. Someone she loved. Her arm curled around one of Stiles's and her smart, calculating gaze flickered from Derek to Stiles. "Your hot chocolate's going to get cold," she informed him. "And the marshmallows started to melt. I know how you hate that."

Derek took the opportunity to turn heel and get out of there. He didn't need to watch the person he cared about being doted on by someone else. He didn't need to hear things he didn't know about Stiles coming out of someone else's mouth. Lydia knew how he liked his fucking hot chocolate. How could Derek compete with that? Irrational, self-depreciating insecurities swarmed around him. They reminded him he wasn't good enough, and that he'd been vacuous to think so. All he'd wanted was Stiles. He claimed he cared about Stiles. He thought he knew him. All he knew was that Stiles missed his father, liked trail mix with chocolate, and loved Lydia. He didn't know anything.

And if he heard Stiles's voice calling after him he pretended not to notice as he hurried into the brisk autumn air.


	6. Don't Let it Fester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isaac is the wisest of them all.

_To: Derek_

_From: Stiles_

_Saturday 3:30pm_

_Missed you at the show last night. How are things with Laura?_

_To: Derek_

_From: Stiles_

_Sunday 7:49pm_

_They got your favorite brand of granola bars back in stock. The peanut butter ones that taste like cardboard. Just thought you should know._

_To: Derek_

_From: Stiles_

_Tuesday 2:14am_

_Remember that time you tried to convince me pistachio ice cream wasn't gross?_

_To: Derek_

_From: Stiles_

_Tuesday 2:14am_

_You were wrong._

_  
_Texts like that. All week. A little farther and farther apart. They were all casual and mostly funny and so very Stiles. Derek could picture his expression and how he said these things and what he was trying to do. He was opening up communication, trying to entice Derek into talking. What Derek didn't understand was _why?_ Why bother? Sure they'd talked a lot more over the last few weeks, almost kissed, planned a date that Derek cancelled (because it wasn't a date. It was a miscommunication), and Derek had been smiling more than he could ever remember. Being with Stiles, around Stiles, even just hearing from him in these silly little texts, felt right. But Stiles didn't care. Stiles had Lydia, and Scott, and now probably Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Laura too. He didn't need some creepy guy who fantasized about him naked, covered in paint, and who pined over him on a daily basis. And Derek didn't think being just friends, right now, was a good idea. Not until he could push away those feelings more. 

 

\--------

 

Except a week later and Stiles still texted him every other day. Nothing nagging and on the days he didn't Derek had minor panic attacks about whether or not that was actually the last text. He hung out with Isaac a few nights after work, getting beers at the local bar and ignoring fliratious looks from both men and women. Isaac sulked at first, went on a few buzzed rants about how perfect Scott was and how upset Isaac was he'd never get to see him shirtless again. Then there came Wednesday night and Isaac came back from the bathroom (a poor excuse, really, because Derek had seen his phone light up and Scott's name jump across the screen before Isaac could hide it) with a bounce in his step and a wide smile across his precious angel face. 

"What?"

Isaac's eyes grew wide and he sat down, startled. Innocently he asked, "What?"

One of Derek's talented eyebrows wrinkled and the other rose. "You know what," he replied. 

The curly haired young man smirked and folded in on himself bashfully, unable to hide it even if he wanted to. "Scott and I have a date on Friday after Stiles's show," he declared. 

Derek's expression dropped. He went from expecting to confused to angry to happy to he didn't even know what. "I thought he was leaving on Sunday?" Derek asked. A warning, if anything. 

Isaac shrugged and drank his cranberry and vodka. Sans vodka. 

"Well we've been talking, you know, and that first night... I mean I was the one who ruined things in the first place. He was really sweet and encouraging and he's been trying to make up for running out."

"You didn't answer my question."

Big blue eyes darted around and Isaac froze, mid-sip, in thought. "He said he could put off his return for a few more days. He's been looking at apartments around here anyway, you know, and got a job offer at the local veternary hospital," Isaac replied. He artfully skipped around the fact Scott very well could be leaving in a few days and he may never see him again. 

Skeptical as ever and feeling especially bitter Derek's eyes narrowed. He wanted to be happy for Isaac, he really did. But Scott's stay had already extended four or five days past when he'd mentioned he was leaving. He didn't want Isaac to get hurt. The two of them danced around each other in college, from what Isaac had told Derek. The poor guy had been head over heels in love with Scott for years.  _Years_. He'd pined over him and lost him and ignored all other suitors for him. Now he was back in his life for a few days, but would probably be gone again soon enough. They'd either have to enjoy the short time they had and break it off or try it long distance and it wasn't like that could work.

"Why bother?"

"What?" Isaac sounded hurt, maybe a little surprised too.

Derek started and his eyes shifted around; he hadn't meant to say that aloud. Licking his lips he set his beer down on the cardboard coaster and sighed heavily through his nose. "I just don't see the point if you don't know for sure he's going to stick around. Look, Isaac, I'm not saying I don't want you to be happy. I'm not saying it'll end in disaster, but I don't know why you're bothering to put yourself through this. Is it really worth it?"

For a long while Isaac, somber and pensive now, stared at his glass. Derek watched him, listening to the dull sounds of people talking and music playing around them. He watched the dim barlights play over the slick ice cubes in Isaac's sparkling glass and make his curls shimmer. Slowly a smile curled up Isaac's lips and he nodded, tilting his head to look at Derek. "I really think it is," he replied. 

"How do you know?"

Isaac drew in a deep breath through his smile and lifed his shoulders to say "I don't know". He polished off his cranberry juice and looked at his phone, beaming again in a way that told Derek it was Scott. Isaac never smiled that way around anyone else. "I know he makes me happy," he replied with confidence Derek only heard Isaac use when making merger propositions. "I know I owe it to myself, after all this time, to see if we can have something. Maybe it'll be short lived and maybe it won't. Maybe he'll move here and we can be together or maybe we'll have to Skype every night. Maybe I'll move there to be with him. It doesn't really matter. I love Scott. I don't want to think about what it'd feel like to stop seeing him, or hearing his voice, or getting stupid texts about new fruit snacks he discovered or getting pictures of puppies from the hospital he interviewed at. I've been through that once. I went almost three years without seeing or talking to him. It sucked," he laughed ruefully. 

Isaac made a good point. Too good. Derek understood the way he felt.  _Love_ was a really strong word. Derek didn't think he loved Stiles. He knew he didn't like not hearing from him. He knew he missed the sound of his voice, his laugh, and his smile. He missed looking at him and sneaking moments to appreciate him. One show and he already missed Madam LuLu's club, his chair and his usual waitress. They didn't have history. They didn't know deep, intimate things about each other (save for the few moments Stiles slipped details about his mother, who Derek gathered passed away, and what Derek let slip about his own familiy misfortune). They hadn't sat up late at night pigging out and watching movies or playing video games. They hadn't fallen asleep in each other's arms. But Derek  _wanted_ all of that. He wanted to know why Stiles was looking for his favorite brand of granola bar on the shelves when Stiles didn't need to go down the organic food section, and why he was trying pistachio ice cream at two in the morning. More importantly he wanted to be there for those things. 

"I think you should come with."

The offer tore Derek out of his own head and he looked up at Isaac from his beer, confused. Then he barked a laugh and rolled his eyes. 

"Thanks, but I don't think being the third wheel is going to cheer me up."

Derek's phone buzzed and they both looked at it where it lied on the bartop. Stile's name flashed under the little envelope icon. 

"Have you talked to him at all?"

Derek shook his head. 

"Why not? He's obviously been reaching out to you. Frankly a lot more than you deserve," Isaac pointed out. 

Although not untrue, Derek looked surprised at Isaac's honesty. His blut honesty. His slightly rude honesty. "Excuse me?"

Isaac shrugged and shook his head when the bartender came back to offer him more juice. 

"It's been two weeks since you ran into him. You're ignoring a situation that you've most likely misread. I told you he's single. Scott says he's not seeing Lydia. He laughed when I asked."

Derek's expression thinned out and he glared at Isaac. "You told Scott? Just how often do you two talk?"

Isaac looked frazzled for a moment and moved his hands around for a moment, searching for a quick answer. "That's not important right now," and, okay, maybe it really wasn't. "What's important is that you've been a sulking, brooding mess since you stopped grocery shopping with Stiles, texting him, and watching him dance around bathed in glitter. I get it Derek. You like him and that scares you. You're about as capable of portraying emotions as a rock, and you're afraid of rejection. But he likes you too, and I don't understand why you're being so obnoxiously stubborn about all this. He makes you happy. It's really that simple," he declared. 

"You've been talking to Laura too," he sneered, narrowing his gaze at Isaac. 

Caught, Isaac looked flustered again. "You weren't home the other day and you forgot your presentation paperwork so I dropped it off. It's not like I did anything illegal."

No. He didn't. Laura probably cornered him into having tea and talking anyway. She was getting restless and had recently decided she was going to stay with Clara. She'd quit her job, which was why she'd been here for so long, and neglected to tell Derek that. So she was going to move in with Clara, or find a new place, or something, because she didn't want to go back. She liked being close to Derek and he couldn't say the feeling wasn't mutual. 

In an act of resignation Derek sighed and plucked his phone off the counter. 

_To: Derek_

_From: Stiles_

_Wednesday 7:37pm_

_Last one and I'll leave you alone. I swear. But I really think we should talk. Please come on Friday and meet me outside afterwards. Please. I'll even bring your favorite gross green ice cream._

Feeling a very strong presence at his shoulder Derek's gaze shifted upwards and met Isaac, craning over his shoulder to read the text. There was a smug little smile that shouldn't have been cute on anyone but made Isaac even more endearing. "Like I said, Scott and I were going to go before our date, and I know Laura's planning on going. No harm in one more show, right?"

No, Isaac. There was all the harm in one more show. 

 

 

_To: Stiles_

_From: Derek_

_Wednesday 8:05pm_

_It's not gross. It's refreshing. I'll see you Friday._

_  
_But maybe it'd be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idek. I'm sorry Isaac/Scott is kind of being pushed aside and not in depth here. D:  
> I'm never doing chapter fics again. Ever. It's all or nothing from now on.  
> I debated about making the gap between Stiles and Derek not talking bigger, but fuck it. I want them together too bad.
> 
> Titles are stupid.


	7. What a Big Heart I Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek gets everything he wanted. And some things he didn't know he did.

Closure. That's the only reason he stepped foot in Madam Lulu’s that night. Closure was all he need: to know Stiles didn't feel the same way, that he was in fact still in love with Lydia, and that maybe they could see each other and Derek's heart wouldn't ache at the mere thought of seeing Stiles again. 

Maybe, but probably not. 

Dressed in his favorite dark jeans and a tight,  _tight_  dark green v-neck tee shirt he decided he might as well look good if he was going to be let down. With his hair coiffed for once and stubble carefully trimmed he sat down in his usual place, waiting for him with warm, open arms like an old friend. The others were already there, and Isaac beamed when he saw Derek approach. 

"Hey!"

Scott's dark eyes whipped around and skimmed over Derek, making the older, taller man feel small and insignificant. He didn't look happy to see Derek at all, like  _Derek_  was the one who'd done something wrong, which was ridiculous. 

With an Old Fashioned in hand he sipped at it gingerly, watching with bored eyes as the first few acts performed. There was another male now, who wasn't as pretty or funny or talented as Stiles, in his opinion, but had the rest of the crowd cracking up. A new girl dressed in a fat body suit and slumped around the stage looking like a sleazy 70's porn star, which had him chuckling. 

Then his heart jumped into his throat because he knew. He just  _knew_. The crowd always stilled more for Moonlite Shadow. They always waited for him silently. Anticipation and excitement buzzed through the air, and when someone tried to order a drink at least three hostile "SHHH!" 's came from around the room. Derek didn't bother joining in. His throat felt dry and cottony, like that one time in college he'd smoked out of his roommate's octopus-shaped pipe. His tongue worked along the insides but was thick and languid. Derek's heartbeat filled his ears and he gripped at the armrest tightly, not sure what to expect. 

Whatever he thought would happen didn't compare to reality. 

There was a long, funny howl of a man that echoed through the room. 

" _Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?"_

The voice asked, and Derek's heart lifted into his mouth. He knew this song. He loved this song. 

" _Why it's Little Red Riding Hood!_ "

The crowd laughed and cheered, clapping as the spotlights swam down onto the previously unseen figure. 

Stiles pranced across the stage and Derek had to join in the laughter of his friends and co-voyeurs. 

A red skirt, puffed up and out with loads of white tulle underneath, bounced with each step, revealing obscenely long, toned legs. Wrapped tightly around his middle was a black corset with a white peasant blouse beneath; it didn't even flop or sag where he should have curves, just fit him perfectly like all his costumes. His black Mary Jane heels clacked as he skipped, the red cape around his neck fluttering. 

As Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs sang Moonlite Shadow frolicked, pretending to pick berries or flowers and put them in his basket. Whenever the howl came again he turned around, as if startled. 

While the "wolf" tried to convince "Little Red" he was in it for love Stiles playfully slipped out of his skirt, revealing frilly white underwear. The crowd whistled and he placed a hand over his mouth, giggling bashfully. Stiles discarded his clothes slowly, teasingly, as always. 

Derek couldn't get over the song choice, though. Or the subject. 

Little Red Riding Hood was his favorite fairy tale. It could have something to do with the fact he liked wolves, but it ran deeper than that. He was certain it was something masochistic, though, because he always related to the wolf more than any other character in the story. Derek felt like an outsider a lot of the time, misunderstood with a ton of love to give if someone just saw past his scary teeth and big eyes. 

He heard this song for the first time in high school and immediately listened to it on repeat. This was the wolf's perspective, and when he first listened to it he thought it was so sweet and charming; now obviously he realized the dirtier, more sexual connotations. It was how Derek felt whenever he thought he might be interested in someone, or whenever he tried to show emotions. He always failed. Always messed up. Derek didn't know how to  _not_  be a big, bad wolf. But he wanted to stop. He wanted to walk close by Stiles's side, to have him see things Derek's way, and to help him understand. He wanted to stop wearing his cowardly sheep's skin and let Stiles see him for who he really was, and hoped against hope that Stiles wouldn't shy away. Or, more likely, run away crying for help. 

"Derek," Laura hissed, smacking her brother's arm. Her own scowl was far more furious than his as she warned her brother against his forlorn little pout. 

Blinking he looked around, unaware of how long he'd been lost in thought. But when he focused on the stage again Stiles was looking right at him, red lips parted in a wide, teasing smile as he held up his cape and, quite skillfully, shed his underwear from behind it. He tossed them aside and the crowd roared excitedly. Derek's skin flushed and his gaze darted around, trying to sneak peaks of that pretty, freckled skin as Stiles twirled in the cape and sauntered off the stage. 

\------

 

He was miserable for the rest of the show. It was rude to walk out in the middle of a performance and Stiles said after, not during. So Derek waited, sitting there impatiently and checking his phone. Obviously the performance turned him on, but it made him wonder too. Stiles always looked at him while performing. Derek tried to convince himself that was just what he wanted to see. Stiles could be looking at anyone in his general direction. A girlfriend. A boyfriend. Anyone. But he never saw Lydia at the performances, and he never saw anyone else waiting for Stiles. 

Confused as ever, Derek tried to pick apart what this all meant. But he was afraid because he could just be over-thinking it. The performance had nothing to do with him. Moonlite Shadow changed up his act all the time. He was just bored with the normal burlesque (if there really was such a thing) routines and the Picasso painting was a one-time deal. Stiles just thought it would be cute and funny. 

He really did have a great sense of humor. 

After the show, when everyone lingered outside smoking cigarettes or deciding which bar to go to, Derek shuffled outside with his hands deeply embedded in the pockets of his leather jacket. He breathed out heavily, ignoring the remarks from Erica and Laura to "Go get 'im tiger!" 

Isaac rubbed a big hand across Derek's shoulders and smiled at him. Scott gave Derek that evil, warning look before dragging Isaac away for the dinner they had planned. 

Derek frowned right back at Scott. 

What the hell?

When he rounded the corner to the side door where performers could smoke between shows or just get some fresh air before one, he saw Stiles and froze. 

He was wearing Derek's favorite jeans, the ones in the dark vintage wash that hugged his ass so perfectly. On more than one occasion Derek thought Stiles caught him staring at his butt in those jeans. Covering his lithe upper body was a Captain America tee shirt: the standard dark blue one with his shield in the middle. Derek gulped, remembering that was the first thing he saw Stiles in. Not that Stiles did it on purpose. It was probably laundry day again. Stiles's converse kicked at the dirty ground and he sighed, staring down at the ground. 

"Kind of cold to not be wearing a coat," Derek said, still stuck to his spot. 

Stiles's head jerked up, eyes wide and (if Derek let himself believe it) hopeful. When he saw Derek his lips twitched up in a smile and he nodded, looking back down to his feet. "Yeah. I kinda forgot it. I was running late tonight," he said, swiping a hand from the back of his messy hair to the front. 

"Hanging out with Lydia?"

Derek wanted to slam his face into the brick wall to his left.  _Why_  did he ask that? What the hell did that have to do with anything? So much for gracefully sidestepping the elephant in the room and saying he understood before hurrying away. 

Stiles looked surprised. Shocked even. His brow wrinkled and he shook his head. "Why would I be hanging out with her?" he asked, lips downturned as they hung open. 

Shrugging Derek licked his lips and looked away. "Dunno. You two seemed pretty close the other day."

The other day meaning almost three weeks ago. But whatever. 

"Well, I mean, yeah. We are," he replied. His tone was firm and sharp. It made Derek's heart sink. He'd been expecting this, so he didn't really get why it hurt. "But she's been home all day with Jackson.  _Her husband_." 

Derek sighed heavily and rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. Stiles mentioned being in love with Lydia in high school, and maybe he did love her. Didn't mean he was  _in_ love with her. He hadn't considered she could be stopping by or just live in the area and the two went for coffee to catch up. God he felt like an idiot, even more than before. 

Stiles pushed off the wall and strode over to Derek, hands in his pockets. Derek didn't look up, though, just stared at Stiles's legs, which turned into his waist, which turned into his chest because they were nearly the same height. If he had looked up he'd see the flash of understanding cross Stiles's expression. 

"Did you like the show tonight?" 

His voice was low and soft, a little nervous. 

Derek nodded and grinned. "I love that song."

"I know."

Pale eyes darted up in surprise and his mouth hung open in confusion. "What?"

Stiles laughed, a gesture that jerked his whole body back and then rocked it forward. "Dude why do you look so surprised? You went on and on about it one day at the store. I asked you what your favorite animal was, remember? You said wolves..." he dragged out the words, as if hoping Derek would finish the sentence. Stiles ducked his head, forehead wrinkling as he looked up at Derek. "So I mentioned the fairy tale and you went on about how you relate and the song... Do you seriously not remember that?" he asked, sounding hurt now. 

Derek's mouth opened and closed noiselessly a few times and he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "No? Not... Not really."

"Oh," murmured Stiles, shuffling around a little. He drew an arch in the dirt with his feet, nudging Derek's foot gently. "It sounded like something you really liked so... I mean I thought--" Stiles barked laughter and shook his head, taking a step back. He shook his head some more and rubbed his hand through his hair, making his whole scalp move back and forth. 

"What?" Derek asked, small and expectant. 

"Shit. Nothing."

Without thinking Derek's hand shot out and he grabbed Stiles's arm, stopping him from walking away. The flesh of it was cold, but surprisingly firm. He could feel all the muscles underneath, strong and well worked. "What?" he repeated. His throat closed up again, felt like he'd swallowed a million cotton balls. Derek's heart thumped loudly in his chest and he watched Stiles carefully. 

The performer sighed heavily and his shoulders fell. Long arms flailed around as he searched for words. "I just feel like a fucking idiot, ya know. We've been doing...  _this_ ," he gestured wildly in the small space between them exasperatedly, "for months. I thought... I mean do you think I really need to go grocery shopping  _every_  Sunday?" 

Derek stared at Stiles with wide eyes. His brain worked slowly, cranking at the details. Stiles lived alone in a small apartment. When he thought hard about it some days he didn't even remember Stiles getting anything. Not even milk. He just walked next to Derek's cart talking. Or listening. Stiles listened. Derek didn't even remember talking that much but Stiles remembered the granola bars, the ice cream, and Derek's favorite animal. "Did you... So this show was...?"

"For you, yeah," Stiles confirmed uneasily. He didn't squirm to get his arm out of Derek's grasp. If anything he leaned into it, liking the heat of Derek's palm. 

The words clutched tightly at Derek's heart, making it harder for him to breathe. He was so wrong. Had been so wrong. Stiles paid attention to detail. He knew that Picasso's Blue Period had some of Derek's favorite artwork ever. That was a conversation he remembered because Stiles asked about the cubism and surrealism and Derek said it was okay, but not as much as Dali or Magritte. How had he missed all of that? 

"Listen, Derek. I get it. You're just not interested and that's fine. I misread the situation. We just got along so well I thought-- Well it doesn't really matter. That night you were probably just drunk so--"

"I was not."

Stiles paused there, body tilted away as he stared down at the ground. He hadn't moved very far away from Derek, though. When it was clear Stiles wasn't going to say anything and had gotten caught up in his head Derek took a step forward. They were close now. Close enough he could feel how cold Stiles actually was standing out there. "I stopped drinking even before you did," he insisted. 

There was a pause. A long silence where Derek was sure he was going to get shoved away. There was a rift forming between them. It grew wider and wider with every second. He thought,  _This is it. He's going to drop the bomb. I just hope..._

What did Derek hope? That he'd do it nice and easy? That he could be friends with Stiles after? He didn't want any of that. Derek wanted to be with Stiles. He wanted to take him home right now, to finally cave into the urge to kiss him, and to hold him and never let go. 

The words hurt as they left his lips. "If you just want to pretend it never happened, or, well... I guess nothing did, but..." Derek couldn't do it. He couldn't be the one to say they weren't doing anything or ever going to go anywhere. 

Stiles scoffed, sounding like he choked on some kind of bitter laugh. His arm started to slide out of Derek's grasp and, disheartened, Derek let it. He felt the smooth skin of his elbow and forearm, down to the warm inside of his palm. His fingers opened, expecting this would be the last time he got to touch Stiles. But those long, strong fingers worked in between his own instead, and Derek stared down at their entwined hands, dumbfounded. 

Derek's gaze flickered up to Stiles's face when he noticed the young man move closer. Their hips were slotted together and Derek drew in a sharp, shaking breath. Stiles's free hand, chilly from the air around them, lifted and cupped the side of Derek's face. His heart raced and he willed his body not to squirm closer. He wanted this. Wanted it since the day they met, but he was afraid. So afraid. It was stupid to think Stiles would kiss him and then reject him, but maybe this was letting him down really, really easy. Maybe they weren't going to kiss. Stiles liked to tease, obviously, so maybe it would be like that. 

Or maybe Derek should stop thinking because those were Stiles's lips ghosting across his. 

He froze, lips slightly parted, and made a small noise. Feeling Stiles resist a smile the performer pushed closer, sliding his lips against Derek's. The darker haired man breathed out a sigh of relief. The weights on his shoulders lifted and his free arm curled tightly around Stiles's waist. Stiles whined and pushed his mouth hard against Derek's, deepening the kiss. Derek returned the gesture, fingers wrinkling and clinging onto the thin tee shirt. Stiles's tongue snaked out, tickling Derek's lower lip with his tongue. 

Hungrily Derek let it inside, licking into Stiles's mouth. The kiss, which started out timid and sweet, turned filthy fast. Stiles jumped up against Derek and Derek swiftly caught him, cradling that perfect, pert ass with his big hands. Giving it a good squeeze he relished in the noise Stiles made, the way his groin pushed down against Derek's. They were both hard; he could feel it through their jeans. 

Pulling away reluctantly, cursing the fact his lungs needed air, Derek leaned his forehead against Stiles's. 

"Do you wanna go back to my place?" he asked nervously. 

Stiles chuckled breathlessly and nodded, leaning in to place a hot, tender kiss against Derek's lips. 

"Absolutely."

\------

 

Derek had put Stiles down after, giving him his leather jacket to wear on the way to the Camaro. He didn't know how many traffic rules he broke speeding back to his apartment, but there had to be at least a handful.

Stiles's hands didn't stop moving over him the entire ride. They slid along his arms and sides, down and in between his thighs. Derek wiggled in his seat, trying to bat Stiles's hands away so they didn't wreck. He blushed profusely, he knew it, and he didn't care. 

As soon as they got inside Stiles was on him again, throwing the jacket and his own shirt off to the side. Derek stumbled back and out of his shoes, surprised at how forward and aggressive Stiles was being. In all the fantasies he had Derek was on top. He was the one who took charge, and so it surprised him how turned he was by Stiles's needy grabbing. 

They stole kisses, chewed on lips, and touched each other as they shed clothes on their way to the bedroom. Stiles shoved Derek down onto the bed and slunk atop him, slithering between his legs. Derek moaned, feeling their erections rub together through the underwear they still wore. 

"You're so fucking sexy," Stiles mused, running his hands up and down Derek's perfectly sculpted torso. "I've wondered a million times what you look like without a shirt on," he said, littering Derek's chest and sternum with kisses. 

"Yeah?" Derek asked with an anxious chuckle. He hissed when Stiles kissed a sensitive spot by his ribs, thumbs brushing over his hipbones. "How does reality compare?"

"Doesn't," Stiles replied bluntly, kissing down Derek's stomach. His hand palmed at Derek's erection, fingers brushing over the damp spot that'd collected during the drive. "This is  _way_  better," he clarified. 

This was better than his fantasies, too. He knew Stiles was fit and lithe from shows. He knew his skin was soft from their accidental touches. What he hadn't known was that the frekcles and moles on Stiles's face continued all the way down his body. That his skin was perfectly ivory, soft and silky. He admired the way skin stretched over his collar and chest, his arms and pretty hipbones. 

Derek smiled and nodded, running his hands up Stiles's arms. They worked into that silky brown hair. He liked this. A lot. He liked the hungry look in Stiles's eyes, the way his voice was lower and raspy with lust. It was like Stiles had a million hands, all wandering over and worshipping his body. But not just worshipping. Appreciating. Admiring. Derek felt safe and warm here, but he was nervous too. So nervous. He hadn't been with anyone in a while and he was afraid of being ignored after like last time. 

"Stiles," he began, lifting his hips so the other could get his underwear off. His erection bobbed up, slapping against his stomach. Stiles made a hungry, eager whining noise that nearly made Derek forget his question. "Stiles?" he repeated, breathless now that Stiles's hand was directly on his cock. 

The performer looked up, fist slowly working up and down Derek's erection. "Yeah?" he replied, looking up through thick eyelashes as he kissed along Derek's hip and pelvis. 

Derek was glad he'd taken off all his makeup. He was glad he got Stiles like this: actually Stiles and not Moonlite Shadow. But he was scared this was a dream, or a one-time thing, and either way it would end too quickly. "Are you... sure?" he asked. He didn't have the courage to ask if Stiles would be there when he woke up in the morning. 

Stiles grinned widely and nodded, leaning up to give Derek a quick kiss on the lips. "Positive. Now shut up and let me blow you," he answered happily. 

Groaning in response Derek worked down against the mattress. He gasped, moaning softly when he felt Stiles's warm, wet tongue slither against the underside of his cock. It played with his head, the slit, and lapped up the precum there. Derek propped himself up on his elbows, deciding he needed to see this. Or maybe he shouldn't have. He was going to come way too soon if he got to keep watching Stiles's lips, red and shiny with mixed fluids, sliding up and down his shaft. 

And Stiles was good. God the things that mouth could do. His mouth was a hot, wet vacuum, giving Derek the delicious friction he needed. His tongue licked and lapped and swirled around his cock. Stiles bobbed his head enthusiastically, not even caring the few times Derek's hips thrust up uncontrollably. If anything that made him moan around the girth louder, which rocked Derek's body with its vibrations. 

"S-Stiles. Wait. I'm gonna..." he trailed off, moaning again as his back dug down against the mattress. It felt good. So fucking good. But he didn't want it to end, not yet. From where his hands hand worked themselves into Stiles's hair he tugged back, trying to pry the lips off his cock. 

Stiles whined in protest but got the hint and pulled away.

"Sorry, I--"

"That's alright. I don't mind," Stiles interrupted with a reassuring grin. "Where do you keep the lube and condoms?"

Derek still panted heavily, dazed and licked his lips. "Top drawer," he replied, voice cracked and already wrecked. 

Stiles smirked at hearing his voice and leaned down to kiss Derek.

He found he didn't even mind tasting himself on Stiles's lips; in fact he liked it, and tried to get more from the kiss. But Stiles pulled away and wagged a finger at him with that same, teasing grin he had on stage. It drove Derek wild. So while Stiles straddled his waist and fished for the prominent lube and buried condoms, he tugged down those tiny boxer briefs and worked out Stiles's erection. 

Derek wasn't huge. He was slightly above average with a nice girth. Something to make sure his partner felt it, was filled, but not overwhelmed. He'd been with a guy or two before, just jerking and sucking, but this was... Stiles was big. Maybe not huge, but  _big_. Derek studied the cock in his hands, toying with it as he studied the engorged red flesh and the solid length of it. "I don't think I can fit this all in my mouth," he muttered ruefully. He'd loved the feeling of his tip rubbing against the back of Stiles's throat and wanted to please Stiles the same way, but this was too long. Too thick. 

Stiles chuckled and withdrew from the drawer. He stood off Derek for a second to get his underwear off and sat back down, smiling at Derek. "You don't have to. It's okay," he assured Derek. 

And Derek believed him. Stiles's big hands ran back through Derek's hair and he leaned down to kiss him again, slow and patient. But Derek wanted it. He wanted to try. So he broke the kiss and grabbed Stiles's hips. He sat up, coming face to face with the cock, and grabbed the base. Stiles groaned and raked his fingers through Derek's hair. Derek leaned forward, kissing the tip before mimicking what Stiles had done. Or trying to. Licking along the vein underneath felt awkward to him, with the tip brushing against his rough, stubbly cheek. He couldn't figure out how tight or loose to hold it, not knowing what Stiles liked, and when he took it in his mouth he took too much at once and choked a little. 

Stiles's hands ran over his face and through his hair, shushing him gently. One hand curled into his hair, grabbing the back of his skull, and the other rested over the hand Derek had wrapped around the base of Stiles's cock. Stiles tightened that grip to the right pressure and slowly guided Derek's head forward. "Just breathe," he whispered, thumb rubbing over the crown of Derek's head. 

Derek moaned, breathing out heavily, and tried to open his throat. But he was getting nervous and that made it harder. Stiles was patient, though, good with him. Only half his cock was inside Derek's mouth and from the noises he made, the way his hips jerked, that was okay. They didn't sound fake to Derek. He looked up with watery eyes, eager to please and trying to replicate Stiles's actions. But he was too good at it and, seeing the uncertainty in Derek's eyes, Stiles pulled back. 

The need to please Stiles was great. He knew he shouldn't feel this pressure. He knew that no matter what Stiles would be okay with what they did; he'd said so on the car ride there. They didn't have to have sex. But Derek wanted to. He wanted to so bad. It was just intimidating to be with someone so beautiful and so obviously experienced. Derek had sex with women before, never a man. He didn't know what it would feel like. He wanted to, but he didn't know how to go about it. 

"Derek, are you sure you're okay with this? We can wait," Stiles whispered, looking skeptically at the man beneath him. 

"No. I want to. I just... haven't before. Ever," he replied, words stunted and awkward. 

Stiles threw his head back and laughed, hand placed gently on Derek's chest and one still in his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry but--" he laughed again, trying to calm down. "I can't believe that you're a virgin. That doesn't... No. Does not compute," he said, impersonating at robot. 

Derek chuckled at that and shook his head. "No, I'm not... with women," he said, losing ground at the end. 

Opening his mouth in a wide "Oh" Stiles shifted down Derek's body. "So do you.... You don't know how you want to do this?" he asked. He wasn't making fun of Derek. He was just clarifying. 

But Derek felt self-conscious anyway and shook his head slowly. "No. I don't."

Stiles's eyes lit up and he gave an excited smile. "Well we have all night. Let's figure it out," he declared. 

Derek sighed lightly in relief and nodded. His gaze followed Stiles as he got up and sat on his knees between Derek's legs. He felt so open and exposed this way, vulnerable. It excited him. He wondered if this was how women felt, when he was with them, stronger and bigger. They gave him the power, which he always respected and understood. This was a big deal. It wasn't something to take lightly, having someone between one's legs. Derek could understand from a whole new perspective now. 

Stiles looked Derek up and down slowly before grabbing the lube. He squeezed some out and worked it between his fingers. "You'll tell me if you don't like something, right? Don't let me do anything you don't want to," he instructed firmly. 

Stiles's confidence and assurance gave Derek some of the same, and he nodded slowly. "I won't. I'll tell you," he promised. 

With that Stiles smiled and his hand dipped between Derek's legs. Derek knew if he tried to do this he'd be a mess. He wouldn't know how fast or slow to go, how flexible an anus was or how to prepare it. It was better this way. Stiles was smart. He was letting Derek know how it all felt so he could use that as reference for when Derek got to penetrate Stiles. 

Penetrate. 

It sounded so cold, clinical. It wasn't just sex for him. It was something more. He hoped it was the same for Stiles. 

Feeling something cool and slick against his perineum he drew in a sharp breath. Stiles froze, waiting for Derek to relax. The same happened when he felt the fingertip against his hole, pressing gently to stretch the muscles at the entrance. Derek nodded, wanting Stiles to keep going, and a finger slipped inside him. 

Derek moaned. It didn't hurt. It wasn't even uncomfortable. It was just... different. So different. 

"That okay?" Stiles asked, voice just as wrecked as Derek's now. 

Looking up Derek loved the expression on Stiles's face. It was just as open and vulnerable as his, but he imagined calmer, more sure. That didn't mean he didn't look nervous. He was practically trembling as he moved the finger around inside Derek. 

Whining Derek started to pant all over again, stroking his cock for something to do. Stiles's second finger poked around the entrance and Derek nodded, whispering, "Do it."

The second finger was worse. Stiles's digits were thicker than they looked. It burned for a moment, and just as he was adjusting Stiles moved them around, scissored them apart. Derek let out a loud, surprised moan (which  _was_  incredibly masculine thank you). His stomach and groin felt like they were on fire. His body was hot, so hot. This was just-- he wasn't sure there were words. He didn't want his eyes closed. He wanted to watch Stiles work him open and see if he could get a read on the performer. But it was overwhelming, the pleasure and pain, and there came a third finger. Stiles worked slower now that Derek felt so full, moaning and whining against the sheets. His dull nails raked up and down Stiles's arms, grabbing onto him for support and assurance. 

Stiles cooed. "You okay Derek?" he asked, sounding concerned and amused at the same time. Somehow. 

Derek nodded, opening his eyes. He licked his lips and came face to face with Stiles's small smile. "Yeah. It's just--Ah! Yeah. Right there," he encouraged. 

Stiles dug in. His fingers wiggled and stroked against Derek's prostate. Derek had never felt anything like it before. The pleasure shot through him in electric waves, and by the fourth finger he was a mumbling mess of a man, reduced to small broken words and Stiles's name. 

"Do you want me inside you?"

Stiles's warm breath danced across his ears. He could feel Stiles's other hand working against his own cock, so close to his thigh. He could hear how bad Stiles wanted it. Looking up he saw Stiles hovering over him and looked into those eyes. Thos beautiful brown eyes that reflected the light in amber and honey. Derek trusted those eyes. Maybe he shouldn't. They didn't know each other that well, had been dancing around this for a long time, but Derek wanted it. Even if it was for one night he wanted Stiles to be his. More importantly he wanted to belong to Stiles. 

"Yes," he breathed.

Stiles smiled broadly and nodded, pulling back. He slipped the fingers out carefully and Derek sat up, watching Stiles roll on the condom and lube it up. It didn't look any smaller now that it stood at full attention, but that fear was replaced with excitement now. God he wanted this. He wanted to feel Stiles inside him, filling up every inch he could. The fingers were good, but they weren't enough. 

Stiles grabbed Derek's hips and added pressure, trying to flip him over. 

"I want to look at you," Derek insisted hastily, voice shaking. He feared Stiles would say no, that he didn't want to have to stare at Derek while they had sex. 

Although a little surprised, Stiles looked more uncertain than anything else. "Are you sure? It might be more comfortable the other way," he said. He sounded skeptical, like he'd been doing it for Derek's consideration. But Derek couldn't ignore the spark of joy he'd seen when Derek declared he wanted to do it like this. 

"I'm sure."

Smiling Stiles nodded. "Okay."

Derek leaned back as Stiles came over him again. One of those skilled hands grabbed the back of Derek's thigh, lifting his leg up and away. Derek took the hint and moved his other leg farther, though all he really wanted to do was wrap them around Stiles. Nonetheless Stiles knew best here, and from his own experience it hurt women less if their legs were farther apart. It made it easier, right? So this should be the same. Or something. He didn't know. Gay sex didn't seem all that different now he was in the midst of it. Not terribly different. 

One last time Stiles brought his lips to Derek's. He guided himself close to the hole, tip circling around it. "Sure?" he asked quietly, leaning his forehead against Derek's. 

Their lips were close, and Derek leaned up to catch Stiles's with his own again. "Positive."

It was fine at first, feeling the stretch of the tip against his entrance. Derek tried not to squirm or wiggle around, just lied there still as Stiles worked himself in. Then it got deeper and he felt it more. Stiles took it slow, sliding his cock farther and farther into Derek, pausing the few times Derek cried out. But Derek encouraged him to keep going, and whined when Stiles stopped. 

"I shouldn't go any farther. Not yet," he whispered when Derek made another noise of complaint. He sounded afraid, like he was hurting Derek, which made Derek feel both warm and annoyed at the same time. 

So after a moment of adjusting he rocked his hips forward, eliciting a moan of surprise and pleasure from Stiles. The performer chuckled, getting the hint, and rolled his hips forward. Derek moaned loudly, feeling the friction and the stretch. It burned. It hurt. But it hurt  _so good_. Breathing didn't come easily, though, and Derek panted beneath Stiles. 

The slow pace was maddening. Stiles was so patient. Too patient. Derek just wanted him to thrust in and out relentlessly. He liked it rough. He liked the pain. But Stiles was too considerate for that. He was clearly losing his own internal struggle to keep it slow, though, the way his hips jerked forward harder some times, as if testing the waters. Derek gave an encouraging whine of "Yeah" when Stiles thrust particularly hard one time. 

Stiles took that as permission and threw caution to the wind. He wrapped himself around Derek and pumped his hips furiously up and down, thrusting in and out of Derek. The sound of skin smacking skin filled the room, partnered with Derek's moans and keens. He clawed at Stiles's back, at his ass, pushing him closer and farther inside. When Stiles bottomed out he moaned loudly and Derek cried out. 

Soon all Derek was reduced to was a mess of whining, panting, and whispering Stiles's name like a prayer. Stiles's hand jerked his cock quickly, furiously, as his own thrusts became erratic and frantic. And when he came he nearly blacked out, spilling all over himself and Stiles's hand, making a thick mess all the way up to his neck. 

\------

 

The next morning when Derek woke up he wasn't sure if last night was a dream or not. He remembered the show, the conversation, and the kiss. He remembered all the sex. All of it. The first time. His first time. Then after a quick clean up and cuddle session how Stiles guided him through fucking Stiles. It was sweet, patient, and the way Stiles spoke never made Derek feel stupid or inadequate. 

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, indicating it was well into the morning. Derek groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into a pillow. He didn't feel sticky, though, and the room hardly smelled like sex, so he wasn't sure if it'd actually happened. His ass felt slightly sore, but not like he couldn't walk. A few times he'd panicked when he was with Stiles, thinking he was hurting him, but Stiles always just chuckled and said he was being silly. Which he was. 

Derek huffed. He was awake now and his brain was working a mile a minute to figure out how he felt and how Stiles felt. When he opened his eyes again it was pretty clear how Stiles felt. He was gone and so were his clothes. 

Feeling forlorn, Derek curled up into himself and tried not to cry, to feel used. They'd had a good time. He had Stiles's number, knew where he worked, and it wasn't like they didn't shop at the same grocery store. 

Except Stiles was entering finals for the fall semester so he'd be working less. He could ignore Derek's calls and texts. He could change grocery stores. 

No. No fucking way he was letting the asshole get away with that. 

Derek jumped out of bed, not sure when he'd put on underwear but it didn't exactly matter. He stomped out of the bedroom, keen on getting his phone from the jeans he'd dropped the night before, scowl set strong and firm on his face. 

 "Hey you're awake! Oh. Sorry did I wake you? Your kitchen's a mess, dude. Nothing's organized. I couldn't find a frying pan!" 

Stiles's voice made Derek freeze and he stood from where he was crouched on the floor. Phone in one hand and jeans in the other he stood, looking amazed. Stiles was in his tee shirt and underwear, jeans still lying crumpled on the floor. His hands worked at two different pans, one with eggs the other with pancakes, and he could hear bacon sizzling in the oven. 

"Are... are you okay? Should I not have done this? I just thought you looked so happy asleep that maybe I should make you breakfast, and you didn't have pancake batter so I had to improvise but my mom used this recipe all the time so I promise they're good. You look mad. You're mad. Should I leave? I should probably leave. It's not like we talked about it. One night stand. Got it. Just thought--"

Derek didn't even really hear the rest of what Stiles said. All he heard was "one night stand" and came storming through the apartment into the kitchen. He grabbed the side of Stiles's face and wrapped his other arm tightly around Stiles's middle. Derek crashed their lips together passionately, holding Stiles like he was something precious and breakable. Because he might not be breakable but he was precious and Derek wasn't about to let him go. He heard the spatulas drop to the floor with a clatter and Stiles's arms wrapped around him in that tight, desperate way Derek loved immediately. 

"Stay," he whispered when he broke the kiss. Stiles looked dazed and confused, but happy. Derek grinned broadly and kissed him again.  

"Forever?" Stiles replied, sounding like he might only be half-kidding. 

Derek chuckled and nuzzled their noses together. "Forever's a mighty long time. Why don't we start with breakfast?" he replied. Even though he desperately wanted to say yes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope this wasn't too disappointing? I thought about breaking this up into two chapters, but decided what the hell does it matter? haha.   
> I've really enjoyed writing a more empowered Stiles, though, someone not as submissive, and I hope that came across. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and reading it. Means a lot to me~ <33
> 
> Obviously song ref for this performance: [Sam Sham and the Pharaohs ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GM8_v4AwltM)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my love for these two characters and inspired the documentary "A Wink and A Smile".  
> My first attempt at a fic, so I hope you guys like it. Because I have more ideas. ;~;  
> Soundtrack for Stiles's show: [Bumps and Grinds](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cG-9WQ0PNTw)


End file.
